


Runaway Train

by RitalinDisturbance



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Adventure, Anxiety, China, Japan, M/M, Tokyo (City), Tokyo - Freeform, Trains, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RitalinDisturbance/pseuds/RitalinDisturbance
Summary: In the autumn of 2001, two strangers share a cabin on the Trans Siberian train going from Moscow to Beijing.  Both at a crossroads in their lives, on a journey of self-discovery they wind up discovering each other."And slowly, as Frank's mind started drifting farther and farther away from life, it seemed as though the soft autumn droplets hitting the glass were starting to merge with the stranger's face, as though he was a cool river flowing through a golden forest. His hair became a waterfall, and his eyes were dripping, and his skin was melting away into a smooth flow, drowning Frank in his dreams as he fell asleep in his seat."





	1. Reflections in Your Eyes

_Autumn, 2001. The Trans Siberian train going from Moscow to Beijing._

The scratching and buzzing of the train moving on its tracks in record speed was the only sound roaring through Frank's otherwise silent and calm cabin on the 145 hour train from Moscow to Beijing. He was sitting along with the direction of the train's movement, looking out at the constantly changing scenery outside the cool clear glass window. It was mid October, and the trees on the Russian countryside were wearing red and golden coats of autumn leaves, breakable, threatening to flutter off at any second, with every single blow of the harsh wind.

If he was being completely honest, Frank didn't exactly know how he came to be on that train in the first place. The events that lead to him sitting there, in that cabin, happened quite quickly, and Frank didn't dedicate much thought to the matter when he decided that if he can't find himself in North America, he might discover himself elsewhere.

He'd been on the road for around a month now, and it has been two months since his University graduation.

He can assume that what led to him catching that plane to Finland in the first place was that feeling he had- standing there, waiting for the professor to call him down to the podium to get his degree. He remembered hearing all the names being called out, all the students talking about where they're going to work and what they're going to do, and Frank just wasn't really there along with them.

Frank wasn't ready to get on with real life yet, and finishing university was a massive shock that would have sent Frank completely off the rails had he not been able to get away from life for a while.

And from then on, everything happened pretty quickly- unlock his savings account, book a one way ticket to Finland, and off to see what the rest of the world had to offer. He didn't pack much- one big backpack with a couple of jeans, shirts, sweaters and a coat, his camera, a small tent and a sleeping bag. His savings were enough to take care of anything else Frank might need. He wasn't planning on going back anytime soon, not until he had life at least somewhat figured out. 

And so, his journey began back in Helsinki where he landed, and jumped between motels for the first couple of nights. He traveled around the city, caught a ferry to the islands, and saw the sights. It must sound pretty standard, but it was the first time Frank was anywhere outside of North America, and it was exhilarating. But a couple of days down in the capital were more than enough for Frank, and he was quick in catching the Santa Claus Express overnight train up to Lapland. He traveled around Rovaniemi for a couple of days, until he decided to find a place to stay somewhere in the woods. He rented a cabin for a week, and was delighted to experience life in nature, going out every morning and breathing the cold air that smelled like trees and lakes and earth, seeing the reindeer roaming about, and finally-  _finally,_ at the edge of September, he went out of his cabin in the middle of the night and the northern lights shone upon him, illuminating him, and he hiked up to the top of the mountain and lay down on the naked summit, under the stars and the magical lights, just taking it all in. He snapped a few pictures, and asked another lone traveler to take a picture of him, returned the favor, and made the way back down the mountain and into his cabin, and that was his last night in the North.

The next night, Frank traveled back to Helsinki and from there, on to Moscow. Moscow was much warmer, of course, and Frank didn't dabble out of the city that much. He mostly came for the architecture, and he wasn't disappointed at all, but it was nothing compared to that moment when he lay under the northern lights and felt complete for the first time. Two weeks in Moscow were basically enough for Frank, and soon he realized that he had to keep going, to move forward. Initially Frank was planning on traveling around Europe, but being the impulsive kid that he was, something just made him get on the train to Beijing. And once again, he didn't know exactly how he ended up there.

And that brings us here, right now, to that cozy cabin where Frank was sitting, looking at the raindrops cover the glass reflecting the Russian scenery. The door to the cabin opened, then, and in came the gentleman that had been sitting across from Frank for the last couple of hours. Frank didn't turn to look- and instead watched the young man's movements in the reflection of the window. The guy gently closed the door of the cabin, and sat back down across from Frank in complete silence. Even though multiple hours have passed from the moment that person settled himself in Frank's cabin, Frank had never laid eyes on him. Instead- he was watching him through the reflection on the window for a very long time now. He took his book off the seat next to him, and went back to reading, which is exactly what he was doing the entire time before he got up to walk to the bathroom (Frank assumed).

The person was wearing a dark blue turtleneck knit sweater and dark grey dress pants, paired with classic black oxford shoes. He had a very European appeal to him, and Frank could easily tell that there was no chance that he was Russian. He was quite handsome- broad shoulders, sharp jaw line, defined cheekbones and longish dark hair that periodically fell over his face. His cheek was slightly bruised, and his lip was busted, but not enough to be swollen, or take away from his good looks. Frank couldn't make out the color of his eyes, as he refused to actually look at him, save for staring at his reflection. His movements were graceful as he flipped the pages. He held the book with one hand, the spine of the book braced on his middle finger, while his thumb and forefinger were spread out on the front cover of the book, and the rest of the fingers on the back over of the book. His other hand was softly brushing at his chin as he read, only leaving it to flip a page before coming right back. The knuckles of his right hand were bruised, far more so than his face.

The book he was reading was called  _"_ _人間失格_ _: No Longer Human",_ by author Osamu Dazai who Frank has never heard of. The book was written in English, which made Frank assume the man was British, or Irish, or something of the sort. Frank didn't mean to be creepy or anything, but if he was going to spend six days on this train he has to find something to do, and staring at the handsome European boy was proving to be quite a fascinating exercise so far. Frank found himself easily transfixed on the person's movements, his expression as he got swallowed into the words of the story he was reading, and all of that without ever letting his eyes actually land on him. And yeah, maybe at this point Frank was starting to make sort of a competition with himself- perhaps he'd managed to go six entire days without having a glance at the boy, even if he really, really wants to.

And as the mysterious stranger flipped another page of his book, Frank started to question- what would this stranger, this clearly intellectual of sorts young gentleman who was obviously not Russian be doing on a six day train going from Moscow to Beijing? Interesting. Perhaps he's a businessman, Frank thought. Or maybe, maybe he's a student taking semesters abroad- each one in a different country. His movements were so smooth and agile- he could have been a spy, if he wanted to. Maybe he is a spy, who's to say. Frank will probably never know anyway. The man brushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

Frank wondered what exactly happened to the guy's face. He concluded that the most likely scenario is that he got into a fight between two and four days ago, judging by the scabbing of his lip, or at least as much of it as Frank could see in his reflection in the window.

He sat up against the seat with his back straight- perfect posture, like Frank's grandma always tried to make him sit. Very interesting. He was clearly pretty well to do- dressed like a model, wealthy enough to at least cover his book in a completely clear reflective plastic sleeve, and yet, he was riding second class in a train, rather than riding first class or taking a much, much shorter plane ride. Very interesting indeed. Frank wondered what his voice sounded like. He was hoping for a chance to hear it- maybe he'd listen to him asking for a meal in the dinner car later.

Frank wondered how old the stranger was, since he had one of those faces- he looked like he could be anywhere between eighteen and thirty and Frank wouldn't be surprised.

Frank could really appreciated the way the turtleneck hugged his neck- perfectly cutting right beneath his jaw, flattering the structure of his face, creating a smooth line between the sweater and the slick bone.

And most of all, Frank wondered; what might be the person's name? And so proceeded an entire charade of name guessing in Frank's mind. The boy seemed dapper, and clean cut, so maybe something like Albert, or Louis, or Vincent. His fingers were long and moved gracefully- like those of an artist, or a musician- perhaps Leonardo, or Antonio. His eyes were skimming along the words on the pages, analyzing, storing the information neatly in his mind, like an author- so maybe Charles, Arthur, or William. He was so versatile and yet so unique and very much his own, Frank couldn't really ever guess his name.

Maybe Frank was way too invested in this game.

The stranger bit the scabbed part of his lip lightly, without noticing it, probably, and it was an absolute delight to Frank. Then, his expression changed and his sharp dark brows furrowed in concentration- probably an important plot point in the book he was reading. And slowly, the tension in the muscles of his face was released, and it eased back down to its natural position.

Very interesting indeed.

Frank wondered whether he'll get tired of it- since it's only been a couple hours from the moment he got on the train, and as mysterious as he seemed, there was only so much Frank could observe and deduce about the European boy. Frank should have brought a book, or a walkman. But Frank is impulsive, and he doesn't always think things through, and right now, in this point of his life he's a bit of a confused mess, more similar to a ticking bomb rather than a young man with a University degree. And so, after a bit of thought, Frank came to the conclusion that lately, the moment he starts to feel as though he is suffocating, he makes a rash decision and doesn't let himself drown in the muddled murky pool that seemed to have been engulfing his brain the past few weeks.

He needs to figure out what that means, step by step, in his time away from home. He seemed to be less anxious, though, since leaving home some of the pressure was lifted, but that didn't permanently ease the anxiety, maybe it just made it seep deeper- deep enough for it to take a while to reappear on the surface once more.

The train was starting to screech loudly on the tracks, signifying them making it to the first stop on the road- the first of thirty three stops. As the train came to halt along the platform, the young man slowly let his hand ease down, the book still opened. Instead, he looked out at the window, as though he was searching for something. For a moment, Frank nearly had a tiny heart attack when the boy's eyes locked dead on with his, before realizing that the guy is looking out the window- and probably doesn't even notice Frank's reflection, staring at him, trying to dissolve down the curious character sharing his cabin.

Oh, but it felt so intense- so intense that if Frank hadn't known better, he would have thought the stranger was doing the same thing to him. Finally, Frank could see his eyes. He couldn't make out the color like that, not through the reflection, but he did note that they were darker on the outside and lighter closer to the pupil, and they glimmered with what seemed like wonder, or curiosity, or anticipation.

Frank really, really wanted to know what he was looking for out there, in the rain, droplets covering the asphalt platform, darkening the grey. Frank could hear the harsh wind blowing, and he could see the clusters of red leaves being carried around by it, swirling and dancing in the autumn storm. But he could tell the young man in front on him wasn't really focused on that- his eyes seemed to look beyond all that, as though searching for something specific that either wasn't there or was hidden from sight.

They stood in that station for a couple of minutes before the loud screeching of the metal cut though the silence, and the train started moving. The gentleman averted his sight from the window, and raised his hand back up to hold the book in front of him, eyes starting to glide over the story once again.

After looking at him real hard for the better part of four hours through the cold reflection, after tearing him to bits with his eyes, Frank figured he had actually failed to discover anything about the person, and he was bound to stay a riddle. And Frank- Frank was bound to stay wondering, staring at the handsome, mysterious reflection through the glass, wanting to know more but never allowing himself the pleasure of taking a real look at him, or letting himself speak out. He certainly didn't want to be  _that kind_ of cabin mate. And if he was being honest with himself, he kind of liked the vagueness, the mystery, and that person seemed to be everything Frank wanted to be- handsome, intelligent (judging by his odd choice of Japanese literature), interesting, fashionable and dapper. Frank instead would probably seem like a washed out, daft, lost young man compared to him- choppy bangs and ripped jeans, plain black hoodie and a beat up pair of black timberland boots, along with a big dirty traveler backpack, compared to his counterparts' nice grey suitcase. Also noticeable was the near mint condition of the book his was reading compared to Franks books that looked as though they survived a nuclear war, not to mention the boy's precise and delicate movements against Frank's clumsiness, and his perfect posture as opposed to Frank's slouchy nature. And the fact that this boy in front of him, judging by the bruises on his face, was not afraid to face fights head on and still stand up straight. Oh, and of course, he was probably a clever European whereas Frank was just another American brat.

He was everything Frank wanted to be because he was everything Frank wasn't.

Yes, Frank was most certainly, at this point in his life, lost. And maybe, he figured- if North America failed to help him find himself, and Europe didn't do the trick either, perhaps Frank will uncover a new identity once he immerses himself in a completely different world, a completely different culture, way out in the east. For now, Asia was the way to go. And if he was being completely honest, Frank had no idea what he was going to do once he gets to Beijing. With Finland, he knew he came for the Northern lights. With Russia, he knew he came to see Moscow. But as impulsive as he was being, Frank didn't think through what he was actually seeking out in the east. He just remembered watching the train schedules to see where he could go, and the moment he saw Beijing, he was washed over with an overwhelming feeling of desire, of a need, as though Franks spirit was waiting for him in Beijing, begging him to come and promising to help him recover what he had lost somewhere between starting his last semester and finishing university. It's a pity, Frank thought. Adulthood comes along way too fast- faster than a speeding train, crashing right into you and leaving your insides splattered on the tracks. Frank just couldn't cope, and something simply broke inside once it all came crashing down on him. He couldn't stay there or he'd end up suffering a full on mental breakdown.

It was probably the first time in his life he felt actually  _unstable_. He felt as though it wouldn't take much to crack him, and with every fracture slowly melding with the rest, he might just shatter to pieces in a heap of anxiety, unable to get himself off the ground.

But nothing happened so far, and being away from home sure was an advantage in that department. For now, Frank was okay. He didn't even want to think about what will happen when he comes back home, though. Even just picturing it sent him spiraling into a near existential crisis.

Instead- he watched the beautiful stranger in the reflection as his lips curved upwards just a tiny bit, in an amused expression, a small smile complimenting the lines and curves of his lips as he read something funny in that book of his. And that small gesture in and of itself was so powerful, ramming Frank in the heart so intensely that he was nearly tempted to avert his eyes from the cold glass and take a look at the warm human instead.

But he didn't. Frank was stronger than that, and locked on proving that to himself.

The stranger's smile slowly faded away, and his brows slightly furrowed once more. Frank seriously could not believe how fascinated he could be just by watching the reflection of another human's face. He found himself studying it, as much as he could through the reflection- memorizing the lines and curves of the boy's face, inspecting the bone structure, and nearly burning holes through the glass trying to figure out what color his eyes were. But that was something he just could not pick up, and he was dying,  _dying_ to see them shine in bright intense color- be it chocolate, blue, or silver, Frank just wanted to see them burning alight, ferocious and captivating, drowning him as though they were a splashing river.

But for now all he could do was imagine.

And right then, Frank started wondering- he never actually thought about what guy's personality was like. Oh, that could be an entirely different story to uncover. Well, he had really nice clothes and an actual suitcase, as well as a dapper pair of oxford shoes, which automatically made Frank assume he might be a douche, or at least a little snobby. On top of that, he was clearly an intellectual of sorts whereas Frank clearly wasn't. He'd probably assume himself mightier and better than Frank, and the truth is, he probably was just that. Maybe Frank's just reading into it too much, and maybe he's just a nice young man who works hard and has enough money to make himself look decent as to appeal to society. But then again- He was a European kid with long hair and an expensive wardrobe, and Frank's head kept telling him that the stranger was probably  _that kind of guy,_  that specific type, which usually rubbed Frank off the wrong way.

But he seemed okay so far. Quiet. Polite. Moves like a ninja, not a single sound emitted. Keeping to himself, trying to occupy as little space as possible. He actually seemed quite nice when Frank came to think of it, like a real European gentleman. Well, I guess looks alone cannot give off a person's nature, and the actions and behavior are what truly shows who the person is.

And slowly, as Frank's mind started drifting farther and farther away from life, it seemed as though the soft autumn droplets hitting the glass were starting to merge with the stranger's face, as though he was a cool river flowing through a golden forest. His hair became a waterfall, and his eyes were dripping, and his skin was melting away into a smooth flow, drowning Frank in his dreams as he fell asleep in his seat.

***

The loud screeching of the train halting woke Frank up as they approached the second stop. It was already dark outside, and it wasn't raining anymore. The conductor announced that it's going to be a 20 minute stop, and recommended the passengers go stretch their legs a bit before dinner. Frank glanced at the glass, this time not through it, but rather at the European boy. He could see him more clearly in the reflection now that it was dark outside. He was still reading that book of his, neck stretched out and head perfectly balanced, shoulders braced against the seat and his right leg crossed over his left, as he held the book with one hand and let the other cup his chin as if he were deep in thought.

Within moments, Frank grabbed his camera and stood up on his feet for the first time in hours. He opened the cabin door as softly as he could as to not disturb his reading cabin mate and closed it in the same fashion (All the while telling himself that if that guy can be a ninja, so can he), and walked along the car until he stepped off onto the wet platform along with a couple of other passengers, though the train was rather empty so there weren't too many passengers to begin with. The russian air was cold, and Frank liked the feeling of the chilled oxygen going into his lungs, like a refreshing drink of cool water.

Frank raised his camera and looked through the lens, taking a picture of the nicely designed station clock before walking along the station for a bit, stretching his muscles. There were a lot of vendors along the platform, selling all sorts of different goods, and Frank bought himself some snacks for the road and a couple of instant meals with the few rubles he had left.

He got back on the train with seven minutes to spare since he really didn't want to risk it, and made the way back to his cabin, looking down as he slid the door open and shut it so as to not be tempted to take a look at his cabin mate. The moment he sat down, though, he turned his sight to the glass to observe the stranger. He wasn't reading his book right now, in fact, he was sitting with his body turned towards the window, the fingers of both of his hands softly curling around a cup of tea.

Frank assumed he must have gone to the samovar sitting in the corner on the north side of the car and made himself some tea. It was quite nice to watch- the way his gentle fingers hugged the cup, stealing its warmth as he was waiting for it to cool down enough to take a sip. And once again, Frank's breath hitched in his throat as the man's eyes locked on his own before he realized that it was a window, and that he's just looking through it, and not at Frank. Because, honestly, Frank couldn't imagine this upstanding young man to be a creep like himself. And so, Frank squinted his eyes, and looked through the glass instead of at the reflection, and saw the clock sitting right in front of the eyes. He was just looking at the clock, Frank assumed, waiting for the train to leave the station. Frank unfocused his eyes once more, and the reflection reappeared, with the stranger's eyes seemingly burning deep into Frank's own,  _exhilarating_ , even though Frank knew they weren't quite locking eyes, not for real.

Before long, came the familiar screeching sound and the train started moving forward, continuing on its way towards the east. The stranger averted his sight, softly closing his eyes as he turned back to his sitting position, back braced against the seat and chest facing Frank. He let his eyes open slowly as he raised his cup close to his lips, and then gently blew on the hot liquid, his lips puckered in the shape of a small oval as waves formed in the deep dark amber liquid, causing a chaos in their own little lake.

He took a sip, then, without making a slurping sound or any sound at all. He closed his eyes as he did, and involuntary, Frank felt his own eyes shut, as though this man was pulling him along for the journey- which was quite laughable to actually realize that Frank was so transfixed and fascinated by the guy that a sip of tea was an enthralling journey.

He did it a lot after that, the stranger- as the train gained speed, he closed his eyes with every sip he took, and Frank was watching it all by means of this glass window. He seemed tired, much more tired than before, and Frank noticed that, unrelated to the tea, the stranger took a habit of closing his eyes for a couple of seconds at a time when he was tired, and Frank really liked the sight of him shutting them, and waiting for him to slowly open them back up.

With the last drop of liquid downed, he put the cup on the small table with an almost silent 'clink' sound. He proceeded to lean back against the seat, crossing one leg over another, then leaning his head back with his eyes closed and finally folding his arms across his chest. His lips slightly parted, just a little, and soft breaths were leaving them. His lashes were quite long, Frank noticed, especially visible when his eyes were closed. They reminded Frank of blades of long grass spreading over a valley, and Frank though for sure that if a wind came to blow through them they would go along with it, bending in whatever direction it took them.

His brows slightly furrowed, and for a moment Frank thought that he has fallen asleep, but the boy opened his eyes, and reached for his suitcase, opening the small pocket to the side. He took out a compact mirror and a tube, which Frank realized later was probably some sort of antiseptic ointment, and gently rubbed some on the small scab on his lip while looking in the mirror. When he was done, He snapped the compact shut with a soft click and put both objects back in the suitcase.

He leaned back once more, returning to the same position, with his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, the lines and curves of his face easing down and relaxing as he rested.

Frank wondered why he wouldn't just open his seat out to fold out the bed if he wanted to rest, and after a couple of minutes of wondering and looking at the graceful resting stranger, Frank decided to leave him to his sleep and left for the dinner car.

There were only about ten tables in the dinner car, and even despite that there was barely anyone having their dinner there. There was one elderly man sitting two tables to the front, and a lady with her kid sitting at the table across from him. And Frank got it- the food wasn't all that cheap, and he would probably live off of instant meals for the next couple of days, but this was the first evening on the train and Frank wanted to celebrate it with actual hot food.

He got himself a bowl of borscht, which he came to really love during his stay in Russia, and figured he should get it as long as he could. It only took around seven minutes for the nice russian lady to bring Frank his plate with a smile, and wish him a nice meal. Frank kindly thanked her, and started eating.

It was great soup- as it always was; dark red, sour, salty and sweet, and particularly nice on an autumn evening. The rain started tapping on the window once again as Frank ate his meal and observed the lamp lit scenery flashing through the glass.

Midway through his meal, he heard the door of the car open, and in the reflection, he saw his cabin mate enter and sit down at the farthest table on the opposite side of the car. Must have woken up, Frank thought, as he swallowed another spoonful of the warm red liquid. He was flipping through the menu, sitting straight up as he did, though looking quite worn down and tired. Had to have been hungry enough to walk through the entire train to get here.

The pretty girl waitering approached him with a smile, and he smiled back at her, wide and sweet, before Frank assumed she asked what he'd like to order, though he couldn't quite hear all the way to the other end of the car over the loud sound of the train sliding on the tracks.

The stranger then said something while pointing at something on the menu, and the waitress smiled and nodded. And he thanked her, even politely bowed his head slightly before she left. At that point, Frank slowed down the pace at which he had been eating- he needed an excuse to keep observing the stranger. The man leaned his elbow on the windowsill, and propped his head up on the palm of his hand, looking out the window. Frank could only see the back of his head like that, but it was just as intriguing as the rest of him.

And so they spent a couple of minutes like that- the stranger looking out at the window on one side of the car, and Frank looking at his reflection on the window from the other side, slowly spooning his borscht. Until, suddenly, the stranger turned to now look at the farther window, the window on Frank's side, revealing his face once more, and incidentally, once again, looking as though he was watching Frank even though he wasn't. He had a strand of hair covering one of his eyes, and he seemed to be too exhausted to tuck it away.

Within moments, the waitress came back with his food, and he diverted his attention to her, smiling and thanking her, and Frank was trying so hard to get a glimpse of his voice, though without success.

The stranger had a simple meal- just a salad, and a couple of baked potatoes, along with a small glass of red wine. He ate slowly, probably following that rule of chewing your food twenty times before swallowing. He ate with minimal movement, neat and careful, slicing his potatoes into near perfectly equal pieces. Every once in a while he'd take a sip of wine, carefully, before silently placing the glass down on the table.

By now, Frank had finished his meal, and instead just sat there, pretending to be looking out of the window as he watched the European boy have dinner, with proper table manners, even though there was barely anyone around.

At moments, he would stop and look out the window for a short while, as though he didn't know whether he was too tired to eat or too hungry to sleep, and then finally chose the latter and kept eating.

The waitress nearly startled Frank when she appeared to have come out of nowhere, or maybe Frank was just too distracted by his cabin mate to notice her arrival. He paid for his meal, thanked the girl, and abandoned the dining car in favor of his cabin, not once being tempted to turn and look at the stranger.

Frank felt quite at ease entering the cabin, it has become a kind of a comfort bubble for Frank, he felt as though the entire train did. It wasn't all that bad, so far- taking the Trans Siberian. He could last six days here, no problem- Frank needed that break and frankly, being stuck on this train for a week was beginning to sound quite delightful. He crashed back down on the cozy seat, and watched the streetlights flash through, leaving trails of light behind them where human sight could not yet adapt to the change. His cabin mate had unpacked his belongings slightly- his suitcase was pushed under the storage space below the seat, and he had a toiletry bag placed neatly on his side of the table, as well as a plain black fabric bag around the size of a pillow on his seat. His book was tucked away under the seat, sitting on his suitcase. Frank was examining his things, trying to get a tiny bit of insight into who the person might be, but yet again, failed to have retrieved any information of value. He seems really neat, Frank finally decided- very organised, very unlike Frank, who didn't have a toiletry bag, but rather a toothbrush and a razor in a plastic bag, and pushed his traveler backpack under the seat in its entirety.

Frank decided that for now, he would stop thinking about it and just try to enjoy the ride. Judging his cabin mate is an exercise best done when he is actually around, even if Frank never really did look at him, so far, at least. And so, he kept watching the streetlights wash away in front of him, because it was too dark to see anything else. And when the lights ceased to cross the train's path, Frank was left staring at the empty darkness and finally, coincidentally, at his own reflection in the window. If he was being quite honest, Frank didn't like looking at himself- he found it to be a dull and draining exercise most of the time, but he hasn't  _really_ looked at himself in a very long time. He seemed okay. Maybe a bit tired and a bit thinner since he started his journey, but he wasn't unpresentable or anything like that. For now, Frank was simply Frank, and not quite anything else and he liked it like that, for the meantime, at least.

He heard the door of the cabin slide open, and in the reflection, he saw the stranger come in, though he didn't close the door behind him. Instead, he took the black bag and the toiletry bag, and left the cabin, silently sliding the door shut behind him. Frank felt as though there was a gust of wind hitting him every time the stranger came, and every time he left, like he was some kind of a wizard from an ancient land. Frank liked that. Frank liked his cabin mate, at least for as much as he could see thus far. And so, looking out at the window, he waited for the handsome European boy to come back, if only to see what happens next, to watch his delicately rough fingers curling around the handle as he slides the door open, to witness what he would do next.

And after a few minutes, the door slid open quietly, and Frank was watching his cabin mate entering, now clad in black and gray plaid pajama pants and a thin long sleeved plain black shirt- and the only thing Frank could think about was how he looked dapper and presentable even when he was dressed in sleepwear. His eyes were droopy, and his legs shuffled behind him a bit, and he looked completely worn down and exhausted. He was really cute, in that moment, Frank thought- not handsome, or successful, or anything he thought before, but rather just tired, and comfortable and absolutely adorable. That was the second time Frank was tempted to avert his sight from the glass.

He put both his bags in the overhead storage space, and then proceeded to fold out his seat to reveal the bed. It already had sheets on it, and a pillow, and a warm blanket, courtesy of the train. Frank watched as he lay down softly, facing the wall, and covered himself in the blanket. His dark hair spread over the pillow, and it was the only part of him Frank could see. And from then on, it was silent. He didn't even ask Frank whether he could turn off the light, and just went to bed while it's still on. Too polite for his own good, Frank thought, and stretched out to reach the switch and turn the cabin light off. As he did, he thought he saw the stranger move a little, maybe just a shuffle, and then he was still. Even though light was still pouring in from the corridor of the car through the window on the cabin door, it was much better like this, in the dark- relaxing.

And so, for a while, Frank watched the stranger sleep, his body moving slightly with his breaths. He watched his hair, and imagined it between his fingers, sliding over them and under them, feeling smooth and silky to the touch, as though it were velvet. His breathing was quiet, barely audible over the moving of the train, but whenever they were passing through a really smooth part of the tracks Frank could hear those soft breaths, and they sounded like a quiet stream, or the shifting of forest trees in the wind.

It was only a little bit past eight when the stranger went to bed, and Frank wondered why he was so tired so early. But then Frank realized that they are supposed to be losing an hour every night on the train- so it was better to go to sleep early anyway, losing time on foot can give you serious jetlag.

With the soft darkness of their cabin, and the lights flashing through the window, reminding Frank of how he used to fall asleep on long nightly car rides with the streetlights passing along the vehicle, Frank felt himself starting to get lulled to sleep.

He forced himself to get up and fold out the seat as quietly as he could. Frank didn't have a pair of pajamas like his organized cabin mate, and all he could do was kick off his hiking boots and shove them under the seat.

He lay down and curled up in the blanket, letting the train rock him to sleep.

Frank woke up in the middle of the night, eyes snapping open once he hit the ground after falling down from a tall bridge in his dream, alongside his cabin mate. Frank thought he asked him something as he was flying down, and the stranger was smiling at him, and saying something, but Frank couldn't hear what it was. The next thing he knew, he was looking down at the approaching ground and just as he was about to flatten down on it, he woke up, heart racing, in cold sweat, urgent breaths leaving his lungs.

"Jesus." He muttered, closing his eyes and putting his hand on his chest. "Fuck."

It's been a really, really long time since Frank had a dream like that; since he died in his dream, since he fell, since he woke up with his heart beating out of his damn chest.

Something must be changing in his life.

He lay still for a few minutes, trying to relax, before he rolled onto his stomach, and lazily propped his head up on his hands, staring at the window. He had to concentrate and try really, really hard to see the stanger's reflection in the glass since the cabin wasn't as lit as before, but once he concentrated hard enough, he could see the sleeping figure of his cabin mate. He wasn't facing the wall anymore, but rather laying on his other side, facing Frank's direction. His dark hair surrounded his face, sliding and flowing over the hills of the pillow. His lips were just slightly parted, letting out soft breaths. He was completely bundled up in his blanket, as if it were hugging him and hiding him tight in its arms to keep him safe.

Frank really liked the soft expression that took over his face as he slept, he looked so calm, maybe flying freely somewhere far off in space, or swimming smoothly in the deepest ocean. And maybe he wasn't dreaming anything at all.

It was quite relaxing to Frank- looking at this European boy sleep, and it also felt quite intimate, like he was invading something very personal, and if he was being honest, it did make him feel a bit guilty. But it was too hard to avert his eyes from the glass.

This man looks lovely, Frank thought, and somehow managed to fall asleep again for a couple of hours.

When Frank woke up, it was eight a.m. Moscow time, but already 9 a.m. local time. He lay in his bed for a short while, staring at the ceiling, not really thinking about anything at all. He could feel the rattling of the train under him, the scratching on the tracks, cabin doors being opened and closed, creating a symphony of odd noises. Frank was still feeling a little groggy, but forced himself up, turning to look at the window as he sat up. His cabin mate wasn't around. His blanket was folded neatly on the bed, and his book was placed right in the center, almost as though he purposefully positioned it to be so. His wash bag was missing, and so were his shoes.

Finally, Frank pulled himself together, realizing that there was no reason to keep staring at the window when the guy wasn't even there, and so, he averted his sight and rubbed his eyes, before once again opening them, pulling away the black curtains of his eyelids.

And there, right on the little table between the two beds, lay a note. Frank picked it up. ' _Are you okay?'_ was scribbled on it in neat slanted handwriting, nearly fit for calligraphy, and Frank didn't really get it. Finally, he brushed it off, assuming that it was simply the stewardess checking on whether they needed anything. He chucked it away in the little trash bag under the table, and rubbed his face with his hands, propping his elbows on the table. As he did, he heard the cabin door quietly open, and then close. He slightly turned his head in the direction of the window, and spacing his fingers out a bit, he looked through the slits. Today, the stranger wore a different outfit. He was clad in black trousers, a white dress shirt covered by a stylish argyle sweater vest, into which a red tie was tucked and thrown over that was a nice casual black blazer. The shoes, of course, remained the same oxford shoes that he wore the day before. He looked really handsome. He put his wash bag and pajamas on the overhead shelf, and sat opposite Frank.

To Frank's surprise, he didn't pick up his book, but rather, in the reflection, Frank could see the stranger looking at him. Not into his eyes, not at the window like Frank thought he did previously, but rather, the stranger was looking dead on at real Frank, with his eyebrows furrowed. Frank wasn't the only one guilty of staring now. It seemed as though he was about to open his mouth and ask Frank something, but ended up sighing and looking away, returning to that book of his.

Frank considered it a perfect hint, and quickly took his plastic bag containing his bathroom items, and a change of clothes. He swiftly got out of the cabin, tripping over his feet, and roughly slid the door shut behind him. Frank hurried to the bathroom, and quickly threw his clothes on the toilet seat and locked the door, leaning his back on it and throwing his head back. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he was breathing really heavily. It almost felt as though he was drowning, running out of air, trying to gasp in oxygen but rather flooding his lungs instead.

"Come on," he said to himself, closing his eyes. "Relax."

He put his hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating at track record, and he had absolutely no idea what was happening to him. Why is he like this? Just because this boy who he doesn't even know dared to look at him?

Frank knew he was quite socially anxious the last few months of university, but he never thought it'd get this bad. It couldn't- He's spent three years studying in a room full of people and he did just fine.

Frank has changed a lot in a matter of months- it felt as though in that short time he'd changed more than he did in his entire life thus far. He was never quite impulsive before, and suddenly there he was, catching a plane to unknown lands in a moments notice, getting on a week long train, leaving his brain back in Jersey rather than in his skull where it should stay.

And here he was now, in the bathroom of the trans siberian, having what he could only presume to be an anxiety fit. He felt like his mind was too flooded to think, he couldn't process anything right now, anything at all. But then an isolated memory came to mind, of his dream last night- him and this stranger, jumping off that bridge into the unknown, crashing right into it. And Frank let that image play in his mind a few times, over and over, and it almost felt serene, and as Frank let that image conceal the inner contents of his brain it almost felt like a protective layer, and little by little, his heart relaxed, and his lungs stopped desperately gasping for air, and he could open his eyes and push off the door, not needing it to support him anymore. It was okay now.

"Jesus." He whispered, and took a step towards the sink. He splashed some cold water on his face, and leaned on the sink, He turned his gaze up, and looked at himself in the mirror. Who was this person? That was most certainly not the Frank he used to know, not who he used to be. He rubbed his face, and looked again. Still the same stranger.

_Who are you?_

Who is he, indeed. Perhaps the existential crisis he was trying to escape from has somehow managed to hop on the train with him and was starting to manifest itself right into Frank. Frank could see it in his reflection- the sweat dripping down his forehead, the bags under his eyes, the unintentional yet unavoidable furrowing of his eyebrows.

_Stop looking so miserable._

Frank straightened up, and shot himself a smile in the mirror. All better now, aren't we?

Frank decided to leave whatever just happened behind, I mean the entire reason he even found himself on this train is to find some clarity of mind, some emotional stability and get back on track. Dwelling just won't do.

And so, micro panic attack aside, Frank brushed his teeth, shaved, washed his face and rinsed his hair a little. He proceeded to change out of the clothes he's been wearing for the past three days, and put on a pair of black jeans and a patterned knit sweater- all very autumnal and cozy.

He looked in the mirror once more. The wet hair was sticking to his forehead, soft droplets occasionally falling onto his sweater. He was slightly flustered from the chill, and his lips had reddened up as well.

He sure as hell looked better than before, though.

And so, when he was finally pleased with his appearance, he grabbed his dirty clothes and toiletry stuff and made the way back to the cabin. Entering it, he kept his eyes low so as to not accidentally take a glance at the stranger.

Frank folded his clothes as best as he could, and tossed them into the part of his backpack intended for dirty clothes- he was going to hit up a laundromat as soon as he gets to Beijing. He then sat down, and crossed his arms over his chest, letting his vision flow towards the glass. He looked at the stranger, who had a pair of elegant black headphones, wired into-

A  _cell phone?_

Frank's breath sort of got caught in his throat for a moment there. Not just any cell phone- it was the Nokia 5510, newest one to hit the market, with 64 mb of music storage available. Frank could only  _dream_ of having a cellphone, much less one that plays music.

He squinted his eyes to see the letters on the screen. The clean cut neat European boy was listening to the garagey, dirty, rough around the edges new band called The Strokes. That didn't quite seem right. Frank squinted harder to verify that he was not imagining. He'll be damned- this guy is actually really awesome. Trendy new phone, listening to the newest rock band, all while dressed well enough for the freaking queen. The man now seemed to Frank like a massive jamble of many different things. With his appearance, Frank would have imagined him listening to some smooth jazz, or classical music, but apparently things aren't always what they seem, as they say.

And suddenly, Frank was getting really  _excited,_  because his cabin mate was no longer the classic handsome European gentleman Frank thought he was- He maintained that appearance on the outside, but turned out to be a cool young man who listens to real good music and owns badass gadgets. At that moment, Frank wanted more than anything to just talk to the person, to get to know him, to hear his  _voice_. In a moment of complete haze, Frank cleared his throat, but then decided against speaking. Right now, he wouldn't be able to force out logical words even if he wanted. At this point in time, Frank was just  _feeling_  too much to think clearly, much less to speak.

He couldn't simply sit now-Frank felt jittery all over, as though a surge of manic electricity were pulsing through him, and he didn't take much time in fumbling in the small pocket of his bag, and pulling out a bag of Marlboro White tobacco, which as well as the tobacco, had his filters and rolling paper as well. Looking down, he swiftly rolled up a fag. He could feel the stranger's eyes on him but decided to pay him no mind, and checked his pocket for his lighter. He then put the cigarette between his lips and as he got up, stuffed the bag of tobacco in the pocket of his jeans and got out of the cabin.

Frank walked to the very last car of the train, at the end of which there was a door to a small deck.

The moment Frank walked out, the loud sound of the train slashing across the tracks hit him, as well as the wind, courtesy of the speed they were moving at. Frank leaned his elbows on the fence, and cupping his hands around the cigarette, he lit it and stuffed the lighter back in his pocket.

It was so cold outside that Frank thought his appendages might freeze the fuck off, and he deeply regretted not putting his fingerless gloves on before going out but it was too late now.

Shivering, he took a deep, long drag of his cigarette, and the contrast of the autumn chill and the hot smoke felt oddly satisfying, and Frank closed his eyes, and hung his head down as his arms braced him on the fence for a few moment before breathing in another lungful of the poison.

He opened his eyes to the view of the Siberian scenery- naked birch trees, and rural houses, small hills and rivers, all surrounded by light gray clouds, red leaves and brisk air. He felt calmer like this, watching the scenery, as the smoke whirled around in his lungs, and later enveloped him as he breathed it out. It didn't take long for it to start raining softly, and even though he had already put the cigarette out and tossed it off the deck, Frank still stood outside, with his arms leaning on the little fence. Frank wasn't a jerk, and he at least had the common courtesy of letting the smell air out before going into a public confined space so as to not make the entire train smell like an ashtray. He felt the soft icy drops hit his face, and he closed his eyes, just letting himself revel in the peace and calm of the scene for a little while.

A few minutes after, with a harsh shiver go throughout his body, Frank decided that if he doesn't want his nose to  _actually_ fall off, he had better got back inside the train. He gave his clothes a sniff, and concluding that he didn't smell like smoke, he hopped back inside, closing the door behind him.

He stuffed his hands roughly into his pockets, and ran in place for a few moments to warm up. When he didn't feel like he was icing up anymore, Frank made to way to his car, still shivering a bit from time to time. Before going back into the cabin, he filled up a cup of warm water from the samovar, and let his hands wrap all the way around it, warming him up.

He went into the cabin and sat down at his seat, putting the cup on the table and wrapping his fingers tightly around it. His teeth were lightly clattering, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, and he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and just let himself heat up for a while. Finally, when he didn't feel like frostbite was about to set in anymore, he let the blanket slide off his back, and looked at the window. His cabin mate was still wired into his phone, listening to music. Frank was eyeing him up and down, this time fixating on his long, slender fingers as he turned the volume down on his device. They moved elegantly, then slowly crept their way up to his face where they tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. Frank lingered there, looking at his sharp nose, then dropping down to his cut lip, and flying back up to his eyes, the color of which he still could not decipher.

And suddenly, the stranger's gaze locked dead on on Frank's own, and Frank had to remind himself once more that he was only looking out at the window.

Only, this time he wasn't.

Because, the stranger, looking right into Frank's eyes suddenly smiled- a soft smile, with his mouth closed and the corners of his lips curving up, and his eyes giving out warmth.

In the shock of the moment, with panic setting in, Frank turned his eyes to the boy for the first time.

And there they were- a pair of deep, mesmerizing hazel eyes looking into his own.  _Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful._ That was the only thought Frank could fathom at the moment, apart from the overwhelming embarrassment that was causing him to go completely red all the way up to his ears. He finally tore his gaze away and looked down at his lap in shame, just wishing to cease existing since nothing this awkward has ever happened to him before.

"I-I'm sorry." Frank said in a low voice, because that was as much as he could muster out right now.

And to his astonishment, what he heard in response was a soft, rolling, throaty laughter- a bit suppressed but unmistakable.

Frank let his gaze rise back up, and looked at the European boy with wide eyes.

His hand was slightly covering his mouth as he laughed, and his cheeks were pink, and he looked absolutely adorable. Frank thought his laugh may have just been the prettiest sound he's ever heard.

With initial shock gone, the tension in Frank's body eased up and soon, his own lips curved into a smile and not long after, he was giggling as well, embarrassed but also relieved. He crossed his arms and looked down at his lap, still laughing.

As he looked back up, the stranger took his headphones off and eased back into his seat with a pleased smile on his lips. Eventually, the stranger softly bit his lip in amusement, before letting it slide out of between his teeth- setting Frank's heart rate basically through the roof. Finally- finally he was looking at the warm human instead of the cold reflection, finally he got to see those mesmerizing hazel orbs which he could have never drawn up in his mind, even in his wildest imaginations.

This man sat in front of Frank was absolutely  _fascinating_.

"Hold that thought." The strangers voice finally emitted, and Frank's ears swallowed it all up, analyzing it. It was sort of deep but sort of high, with a smoothness Frank had never heard before. He had a slight accent, Northern British from what Frank could decipher with such few words spoken, but he could tell that his accent wasn't as overwhelming as some Sheffield folk, for example, and it had a nice, soft ring for it. He spoke at the perfect pitch, with the perfect accent and perfect pronunciation. Frank decided that his voice sounded like autumn- like a combination of leaves fluttering off of branches and soft rain tinted with a hint of Halloween playfulness. Lovely.

The stranger got up and exited the cabin, leaving Frank in awe to gather himself up for a couple of moments.

What the hell just happened?

In a matter of minutes Frank got caught staring, wanted to die, laughed it off, drowned in a beautiful man's eyes, savored his smile and his laughter, and finally sprung back to reality. He desperately needed to gather his thoughts.

And then Frank remembered that he had packed a notepad and a nice pen- he was planning to write about his journey in it in hopes that he might discover himself better in between the black and white. Ever since Frank remembers himself, he could only make sense out of his thoughts and emotions by putting them down ink on paper. He had a massive amount of notebooks filled with songs, stories and ideas, but lately he seemed to have fallen out of that habit.

And what better time is there to start again than when you lose yourself?

He laid down the pad and pen, and with a stroke of his wrist and a deep breath he let words flow out from his mind into ink.

_'I see reflections in your eyes_

_shadows of my mind_

_I don't know why_

_I went too far again_

_Time's flying by_

_No more stars in the sky_

_But I see reflections in your eyes_

_And I don't know why_

_I'm falling down_

_I don't know why_

_Crashing into something real_

_Too much to feel_

_No more reflections in your eyes_

_Nothing exists to analyze_

_You are just you'_

Even after reading it over, Frank was unable to make much sense out of whatever his brains just splattered on the first page of his travel notes. But despite himself, he couldn't help but let out a small smile- finally feeling like he is at least somewhere on the way to self discovery and redemption.

He sat in silence for a couple of minutes with his arms crossed, rereading the page until he had it carved deep into the edges of his mind. He raised his head, and turned towards the window.

In the glass, now- he saw himself and nothing else. That was Frank right there. Or rather, an odd anomaly of Frank which he was yearning to get to know better and make amends with. He took a deep, long look into his own eyes, reflecting himself reflecting in the glass an eternal number of times.

Finally, he slowly tore his sight from the window and took ahold of his nice pen once more.

Frank dated the page, and titled it  _'Reflections in Your Eyes'_.  


	2. Strangers

_October 12 th. The Trans-Siberian train going from Moscow to Beijing._

The train was whirring loudly over the smooth tracks on its way to China, the soft autumn rain starting to tap on the window as harsh winds were whistling on the other side of the glass. The leaves were fluttering in the wind, spinning and rushing on an unknown journey of their own, already having left their previous home on the branches of the now naked birch trees.

 

Frank Iero looked away from the scenery, and closed his travel journal with a soft, dull thud, then stuffed it in his backpack.

His cabin mate, who he now allowed himself to look at, opened the door with his foot in a swift slide. He was carrying two tea cups in his hands, and gently placed them on the mini table, emitting a nearly inaudible clink sound.

 

“There you go.” He said to Frank with a closed mouthed smile and sat down across him, crossing his legs.

 

“Oh, wow, thank you.” Frank said, a bit surprised, looking at the boy’s face, which he found impossible to tear his gaze away from for the past couple of minutes. Well- ever since he’d finished his little detective game with the guy’s reflection in the window. He was deeply drawn to the stranger’s bright hazel eyes- such an enticing pair of orbs, far beyond what Frank’s imagination could have drawn up in his mind. _Beautiful._

 

“Don’t even mention it. You looked like you were icing up a bit earlier.” He said, and Frank laughed lightly because yes, he was, and he was definitely the type to risk his limbs necrosing in the cold for a smoke. Or maybe, he just laughed a little because the guy had this really, _really_ cute northern British accent. Frank loved it- the way he talked, his smooth voice, he could figure that much out even from that smallest bit of words they’ve exchanged between them.

The European boy turned his head to look outside the window, lone strands of hair falling on his face, and he kept his sight focused on the grey Siberian scenery flashing about like frames on an old time film projector just outside the cold window. Finally he turned his head back in Frank’s direction, and took a deep breath before locking his bright eyes with Frank’s, making his heart skip a beat.

 

“You don’t speak much, then, I gather?” He continued, after a few seconds of silence on Frank’s side. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to pick up his cup of tea as he spoke, and his eyes were sort of examining Frank’s expression. The steam from the hot tea rose in playful swirls and periodically hid the stranger’s face from Frank’s sight, though whenever it would change direction or fade away for a couple of moments, His shiny bright eyes were right there, looking at Frank, sending strange waves of unfamiliar and odd, yet strangely comforting feelings throughout Frank’s body. It almost felt the same as inhaling the hot steam from the tea- warming you up and yet at the same time introducing an element other than oxygen into your lungs, something that didn’t quite belong there until that very moment. And Frank breathed it all in, in all his might, since it was new, unique, _exhilarating_.

 

“Not much, no. I’m not great at that, I guess.” Frank said, shrugging, as the European boy took yet another sip of his steaming cup, the fingers of both of his hands wrapping around it to absorb the heat. Frank picked up his own cup and took a sip, and then immediately cringed, not being able to stop himself. His cabin mate laughed at him then, just a bit- his eyes squinting, and the corners of his lips curling upwards, revealing the row of teeth underneath. His laugh was a soft sound- Frank has heard it before but damn it if it wasn’t just as surprising and beautiful that time, with his left hand rising up to shield his mouth as chuckles were seeping through his teeth.

 

“I assume you take it with sugar then, huh?” He asked playfully, and Frank turned a bit red. Black tea was simply too bitter for him plain, and it didn’t change whether he was five years old, or twenty. Frank had a massive sweet tooth- especially when it came to beverages. If it were up to him, he’d add three teaspoons of the little white crystals to just about anything that was even remotely bitter.

“Here. I took this just in case.” He said, taking a small packet of sugar out of the pocket of his blazer and tossing it to Frank.

 

“Thanks.” Frank said, and poured the sugar in, watching it melt away and combine with the amber liquid before it could reach the bottom of the mug, tiny crystals withering away and dissolving into nothing in a matter of seconds.

 

“Is it because of my face?” His cabin mate asked a couple of seconds later, leaning a bit closer on the table and locking eyes with Frank.

 

“What do you mean?” Frank asked, his eyebrows slightly furrowing, as he had to stop himself from letting his eyes dance all over the guys face, to take in his features and appreciate their lovely combination. It truly is a fantastic face. His cabin mate leaned back in his seat, and the left corner of his mouth curled up to form a perfectly crooked smirk that complimented his charming personality.

 

“Well, you were looking, you know, in the window.” He said, and gestured to the glass, “Is it because of the bruises on my face?” He continued, and Frank started softly tapping his fingers on his cup. He heard the sudden roaring of a wicked gale outside the window, as the lone red leaves were clamoring around in the frigid atmosphere, endlessly swirling and rushing about as though they were performing some sort of a cult ritual of their very own. The soft tapping of his fingers on the hot cup came to nearly synchronize with the uneven and unpredictable roars of the harsh wind, slowly switching from order to chaos in a near unnoticeable manner.

 

“No, no. Not at all.” Of course it was because of the face- though the bruises had virtually nothing to do with it. Frank just liked the guy’s face, that’s all there was to it. But he couldn’t really say that, now, could he? The curves and lines forming his handsome face were enticing to Frank- so much so that had his face been the only thing Frank was able to see for the rest of eternity, he’d be okay with that.

“I mean, actually,” Frank said and straightened up in his seat a bit, suddenly very much aware of his slouchy pose, “I just, I noticed you have that Nokia 5510. That’s pretty cool, I’ve seen lots of commercials, was just interested, is all.” Frank said, and then lightly scratched at his nose. The stranger smiled playfully once more, softly biting his bottom lip, and leaning back against his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Frank swallowed a nervous lump in his throat, and placed his cup back on the table as softly as he could.

 

“It’s alright, I know I look a bit rough.” He said, obviously seeing right through Frank’s stupid excuse. He didn’t look rough at all- in Frank’s eyes the bruises and cuts were very attractive, a nice addition even, and he could spend the whole day examining them. He must’ve gotten a punch to the mouth, followed by a punch to the cheek, from what it looked like. The blue mark on his cheekbone seemed almost like a galactic formation, and the cut running right along it could have just as easily been a comet rushing through space. Frank thought they were absolutely magnetizing.

“Though, if you really are interested in gadgets, then we might have something in common.” The guy said, and Frank took another sip.

 

“I just figured- if we’re going to be sharing a train compartment for the next six days--wait, are you going all the way to Beijing?” Frank nodded.

 

“Yeah. Beijing.”

 

“Right. So if we’re going to spend the next week sitting across from each other, we might as well chat rather than sit in utter silence, yeah?” Frank nodded again, and placed his cup back on the table.

 

“Sure, that’d be cool.” _Yes,_ Frank thought, yes, it’d be really nice to get to know the handsome European boy, for as much as he wanted to preserve the mystery of the unique stranger on the train, Frank was just too curious. He smiled at the stranger and the stranger smiled back.

It all felt a bit surreal to Frank at that moment- like a movie or a book, meeting a mysterious personality on a train in a faraway land, and quite honestly Frank didn’t know why it felt so odd, but he was just going to let events transpire and see what happens, which in his mind was the best approach for the time being.

 

“Mates, then?” The stranger asked, and offered Frank his hand.

 

“Mates.” Frank said, grabbing his hand and shaking it, and of course it had to be super soft, with completely smooth skin, and Frank wouldn’t have imagined it any other way. He noticed the wind starting to get faster and more violent outside, whistling turning to roaring, and the floating leaves now being harshly thrown about as the raindrops tapped harder and faster on the cold glass.

 

“Looks like a storm is about to begin.” The European boy said, as he leaned back in his seat and turned his head to look at the darkening scenery. Meanwhile, Frank was delighted to be looking at the boy’s profile, and for the first time let himself examine his actual face- his sharp tipped nose, going up to meet his defined, strong brow bone covered by full, expressive dark eyebrows.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Frank said, and the stranger turned to face him, “How did you end up with a busted lip?” He finally asked, slowly picking up the courage to try and start a conversation. The guy let out a laugh.

 

“Let’s just say Russian drunks tend to have a temper.” He said and shrugged.

 

“Yeah. I mean lucky you didn’t get too much of a beating then, right?” Frank said, and kicked his boots off his feet, pushing them under the seat. He then sat cross-legged on the still unfolded bed.

 

“Well, unlucky for him I used to be a boxer.” The guy said in a playful tone, with a slight raise of his eyebrows and Frank laughed. A boxer, huh? That was actually really cool, for Frank would never peg the guy as someone who’s into sports. This person just kept getting more and more interesting.

“You’re American then, yeah?” They guy asked and Frank nodded.

 

“Yeah, New Jersey, born and raised. I assume you’re either Scottish or northern English?” Frank asked, and proceeded to take in a much needed sip of hot tea. His cabin mate tucked a piece of hair behind his ear and leaned back in his seat.

 

“Yes. And no.” He said, leaving Frank confused, letting his eyebrows furrow.

 

“How do you mean?” He asked the stranger, as rain drops violently tapped on the glass, and thunder started rumbling, at first softly and then harsher and louder.

 

“I did grow up in Scotland. But I’ve been living in New York City ever since I was fourteen, so I’m quite American, just like you.” He explained, and softly pointed at Frank before taking his mug in his hands. So maybe, it’s not all as it had been playing out in Frank’s mind- The guy isn’t necessarily an exotic stranger from a foreign land. He’s quite American by now, _just like Frank._ Though he didn’t seem like Frank at all, not even in the slightest, Frank never would have thought that this odd sophisticated fella is from the US.

 

“You know what,” The stranger said, putting his mug down on the table and straightening back up in his seat, “Let’s play a little game.”

 

“Alright, sure.” Frank said and shrugged his shoulders.

 

“I bet I can deduce some things about you just from what I’ve seen this far. And you could do the same, yeah?” He explained and Frank would have sworn the guy was probably jabbing a bit at his staring, but in a comedic, friendly way. Frank nodded.

 

“Tell me who I am, then.” Frank said, as he took a hold of his blanket and covered his legs as lightning began to strike outside, sending flashes of bright light as the electrons fought to find the shortest way to the ground.

 

“Well, I guess you seem younger than I am, I’d say around twenty, maybe twenty one. Which would probably mean you just finished college, and went on your big trip. Smoker, obviously,” The guy started assessing, and Frank kind of blushed at that last one, since he was trying really, really hard to not let his habit bother anyone.

“Got your big backpack and a pair of boots, and for some reason you’re taking the train to China. I guess you didn’t exactly plan this trip ahead of time.” He said, and paused to wait for Frank’s response. Frank stayed silent for a couple of moments, before uttering his words.

 

“Yes. Yeah, exactly.” He said in a quick jumble and a smile spread over the stranger’s face, clearly pleased with his quick assessment of Frank.

 

“Now, let’s see… Judging by you clothes and backpack brand,” He said, and slightly pointed towards the pack sitting under Frank’s seat, “Upper middle class. And since you just finished college, you probably still live at home.” Frank nodded; everything the guy said so far was one hundred percent true.

“Studied for three years, so you can’t be an engineer or a doctor, I assume. But no matter how much I tried, I wouldn’t be able to guess what or where you studied.” He concluded, and ran a hand through his dark hair. He then looked at Frank, awaiting confirmation.

 

“All true.” Frank said and nodded, and then downed the last sip of his tea. A heavy rumbling of thunder pierced through the air, then, followed by a sharp swift lightning striking through the air, and then another heavy thunderous roaring coming from the sky and echoing through the glass window and into the cabin. The stranger smiled at him.

 

“Go ahead and judge me.” He said, patting his chest with one hand. “I bet I look like a douchebag to you.” He continued, and in the beginning, that’s definitely what Frank would have thought of this man, but now, after having a short conversation, that felt far from reality. He seemed nice enough, polite, talkative, hell; he even made Frank a cup of tea.

 

“Uh, well…” Frank began, playing with his hands, tracing little circles on the palm of one hand with the finger of the other as he thought. “You said you’re older.” He said, and took a drawn out look at the guy’s face, which had an amused expression plastered over it. Really nice skin, no wrinkles or smile lines. He must not be that far removed from Frank. “I’d say twenty three, I think. You seem pretty well to do with the, uh, blazers and oxford shoes. You have the newest cell on the market, you probably make good money.” Frank said, and resorted to rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “You’re must be real smart, with that odd book you read. You’re really neat- your book is covered in plastic and your clothes are all perfectly folded.” He continued, as the stranger put a hand on his chin, thinking as he was listening to Frank’s reading.

“But as to why a well to do young guy with money would be riding the second class on the Trans-Siberian, that’s a real mystery. I’m going to guess that you’re not on a leisure trip but rather going to China on business. But then again, that would raise the question of why you were in Russia in the first place and I’ve got no idea.” Frank finished and pushed an intrusive strand of hair away from his face. The stranger nodded with the same smirk on his face.

 

“Twenty five, actually.” He said, “You’re pretty observant.” He commented, as another flash of white light bled through the glass, followed by a deep, rumbling thunder, the sky darkening more and more.

“So what did you study?” He asked Frank a couple of seconds later, his eyes dancing around Frank’s face. Frank once again took note of his long lashes- a unique feature among men, and it gave his handsome face a feminine edge, making him look rather androgynous and emotive.

“Architecture.” Frank answered, and the guy nodded, bringing his left hand up to rest on his chin, long fingers stroking it as he thought.

 

“Hm. That’s intriguing.” He thought aloud, “Where did you go?” How followed up, as Frank was running a hand through his messy hair, trying to tone down the rebellious strands that constantly seemed to have a mind of their own.

 

“Uh, Rutgers. You know, New Brunswick.” He nodded knowingly at Frank’s answer. “So, what’s your profession, then?” Frank asked back and the guy rubbed the back of his neck, and looked out at the scenery before turning back to Frank.

 

“Are you asking about what I have a degree in, or what I actually do?” The stranger verified, with a slight tilt of his head. Frank opened his mouth to speak but a rather surprisingly loud, earth rattling crash of thunder cut him off, enough to make the lights in the cabin flicker for a split second. Frank cleared his throat.

 

“You mean, they’re not the same thing?” Frank questioned- he was so mesmerized by this unique man, it seemed as though he was uncovering diamonds with each sentence that rolled off his tongue in his smooth, recognizable, and yet down tuned and diluted by Americanization Scottish accent. He smiled.

 

“No, not quite. They’re rather different, actually.” The stranger said with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

 

“How come?” Frank asked, leaning back in his seat, his fingers playing with the fabric of his blanket as he did.

 

“Well,” his cabin mate began, “Technically I’m a certified software engineer, CUNY trained. After I got my degree, I started working at this animation company. I always found it fascinating, what the animators were doing, and I was spending quite some time with them during the work day. On my own time, I was doing little tweaks and alterations on the characters, just for fun. I ended up accidently messing with the designs in the general animator’s folder instead of saving a copy on my own computer. I thought I was done for, but long story short the boss loved it and I ended up doing character design on the graphics team and have been doing so for two years now.” He finished the story with a couple of slow nods, and weaved the long fingers of both of his hands together on the tiny table, leaning forward just a little bit.

So he was a clever guy as Frank suspected, a respectful engineer, yet one with an artistic edge who’d rather have the more humanitarian role of a character designer.

 

“That’s…” Frank began, but he didn’t really know how to articulate what he thought. His cabin mate was looking at him, expecting Frank to finish his thought with an anticipating yet nonchalant expression across his handsome face. He was so unique, a computer whiz cartoonist, Scottish-American, reading Japanese literature and following it up with some garage rock music playing from his brand new cell phone. The man was a curious character, full of surprises.

“Fucking cool.” He finally finished in one heavy breath. The stranger gave him an amused look for a moment, but couldn’t help his laughter and it burst out in a high toned chuckle, making his eyes squint and his lips stretch wide over his teeth, and Frank joined him, because he couldn’t look at that magnificent occurrence without the need to smile wide and giggle washing over him.

 

“Thank you.” He said after he’d stopped laughing. A silence followed, and Frank reached for his backpack, fumbling in it until he’d found the stash of food he bought the day before. He grabbed a pack of instant porridge and kicked the blanket off, straightening his legs, sliding them into the boots resting under his seat.

 

“I’m going to the samovar, do you want another cup of tea?” Frank asked politely as he got up, and the stranger shook his head.

 

“No, thank you.” He said, and with a quick nod Frank got out of the cabin, sliding the door shut behind him and making his way to the samovar at the end of the car. A young girl was pouring some water into a cup, and Frank waited until she was done. She was  short, Asian, and very pretty- strands of short hair resting on her head, occasionally shifting with the movement of the train, falling over her deep, reflective, dark brown eyes.

When her cup was finally full, she turned around, and gave Frank one of those cute awkward smiles that you’d give to a stranger waiting behind you in line. Frank politely smiled back, and kept watching her as he peeled the top off the package and started pouring hot water into the foam box. She walked with a slight sway in her hips, though slowly and cautiously as to not pour the boiling water on herself. Her short hair was unevenly cut, and it came to a halt at the nape of her neck where her rich, caramel skin began, dipping into her black sweatshirt and never appearing again until her small, feminine hands that were peeking out of the sleeves, holding the cup. She wore dark blue jeans that were just a tad bit oversized, and a pair of dirty black converse. Her hips had a smooth wide curve to them, giving her a nice hourglass figure that complimented her small frame.

And had Frank not been completely preoccupied with the pretty girl who had now entered her cabin and shut the door behind her, he would have noticed the boiling water going over the safety line and spilling right onto his hand.

 

“Fuck!” He cussed and quickly set the box down, shaking his hand. “You mother—“ he kept exclaiming as he quickly opened the bathroom door and proceeded to put his hand under the sink and pour cold water on it.

“Jesus.” He said as he stopped the water flow and shook his hand dry. It was red and sore, and there was a clear outline of darker red where the boiling water had spilled. Frank sighed- already used to finding the most ridiculous ways to either hurt himself or the people surrounding him. Seriously- he could have sworn he needed a fucking ‘caution’ sign hanging around his neck at all times.

 

He took his porridge and stirred it with the plastic spoon on his way back to the cabin. He entered the cabin, sliding the door shut and placing the porridge on the small table. His cabin mate was back to reading his book, though he lifted his eyes as Frank sat down.

 

“Burnt your hand?” He asked, inspecting the uneven burn covering the back of Frank’s right hand.

 

“Uh, yeah.” Frank said, awkwardly, as he lifted a spoonful of the oats into his lips, making sure to blow on it before letting it in. The stranger put his book aside, and leaned down to open the small front pocket of his suitcase. He handed Frank a small tube of antiseptic.

 

“Here.” He said, and Frank took the tube.

 

“Thank you.” He said, and squeezed out a small amount of cream, spreading it onto his hand. It stung, like little needles pricking harshly at the outer layer of his skin.

 

“How did you manage that?” His cabin mate asked, as the tapping of raindrops on the window turned into the more violent clicking of hail, tiny pieces of ice violently hitting the glass, then falling to the ground.

 

“Well…” Frank began, “I guess I got distracted.” He said, screwing the little tube shut and handing it to the Scottish boy. He proceeded to look in his backpack until he found the small plastic bag he’d tossed in when he was packing- holding band aids, bandages and painkillers. He took a small soft bandage, and began to wrap it around his hand.

 

“Cute Japanese girl caught your attention, yeah?” Frank halted his movement, and looked up at the boy, who had another one of his amused smiles on his face.

 

“How…?” Frank asked, and the stranger laughed at his reaction.

 

“I saw her walking back from the samovar. Had a chat with her yesterday, seems like she goes there almost every hour to get tea.” He explained. Frank secured the bandage around his hand.

 

“I see.” Frank said. “She speaks English then?” Frank asked, trying not to come off too obvious, but of course the European boy saw through him. Frank wanted to talk to her next time he sees her, even though he realized that nothing much could come out of it as they were on a train, and she was Japanese and that’s that. Frank missed talking to pretty girls, is all.

 

“Her name is Misaki, she’s twenty three and lives in Tokyo. I’d say go for it, but she’s married.” He said a little bitterly, and Frank could tell that maybe his friend had some plans of his own regarding Misaki, had she been available.

 

“Oh.” Frank said with a slight sulk. “That’s too bad.” He kicked his boots off, and kept eating his porridge. Frank never particularly liked instant food, but there wasn’t much else he could eat on a week long train ride. “She seems so much nicer than American girls.” He added quietly, poking at the oats a little before gathering up another spoonful.

“There’s people like her in America, too.” His cabin mate said, picking his book back up and opening it. “If you look hard enough.” He added, as Frank downed the last of his porridge and threw the empty box into the trash bag. The stranger was back to reading his book, and it dawned on Frank how exhausted he felt after having his sleep riddled by a feeling of falling and splattering on asphalt the night before. He decided to get some shut-eye, since there’s nothing much to do on the train ride anyway.

 

 _Yes,_ Frank thought to himself in response to the boy’s statement, _there’s you._ He rested his body on the bed, and wrapped himself in the blanket, facing the wall. He closed his eyes, and pictured what it would have been like to have Misaki as a girlfriend. Frank really could be a massive hopeless romantic, especially after going through an endless line of dead end relationships and meaningless sex during his college days. Once he saw her, something inside him awakened, and suddenly he was craving something real, something that will feel so strong that it will even hurt a bit- and that would be fine. He wanted to take care of someone, to be exposed to someone’s flaws and love that person endlessly despite them, no- _because_ of them. He could imagine soft hugs, kisses and laughter, but also fights and tears and forgiveness, and it made his chest ache with how lonely he was feeling in that very moment. A softer thunder rumbled outside, as if to sympathize with frank, and the rain falling down was the sky crying along with Frank’s heart. It was the first time he’d felt lonely on that trip, and he couldn’t shake the fear that the feeling would never go away. He could hear the Scottish boy softly turning the pages of his book, and wondered if he’d ever felt that way. Frank shifted to quietly place a hand on his chest, and felt his heart beating. Each thud echoed through his fingers and throughout the rest of his body, steady and calming, reminding Frank of stability and assuredness. Everything will be okay as long as his heart was beating. Frank let himself get lost in the feeling of his slow heartbeat, and in the secure and calm sensation that his cabin mate gave him for some reason.

And despite the clattering thunder and the weeping sky, he managed to focus on the soft beating and let it lull him to sleep.

 

Though, it wasn’t at all a sleep that would leave him well rested, because much to his misfortune, Frank was dreaming again.

In his dream, Frank was roughly pushed into a wall by a strange man, his head slamming against the concrete with a loud and overwhelming thud, so overbearing that it sounded like thunder and nearly sheltered Frank’s painful scream. Frank slid to the ground along the wall, his head spinning and throbbing, not allowing him to think or fathom anything except for the unbearable pain. He tried to open his eyes and look at the man, get at least a slight sense of his identity but he couldn’t, so he just sat there, trying to hold onto  a friction of awareness, though without success, as he lost consciousness soon after. The next thing he knew he was in an old building, and there were people walking around him, young students. He was yelling, grabbing his head and squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the hot sticky blood seep between his fingers from the big, deep gash on the back of his head, wetting his hair, dripping down his back and onto the stone floor. As he was crying his fingers slipped over the large wound, and he could feel sharp bone- realizing that his skull was penetrated and it was the most horrifying notion. He was begging the people around him to take him to the hospital, to help him somehow, but no one seemed to hear or care. He fell to the ground sobbing, the pain in the back of his skull so overwhelming that he couldn’t function. He was moaning and groaning, feeling the blood soaking his shirt, his head hurting like someone kept pounding on the inside of his skull, trying to break free. And it felt like it lasted forever- him suffering in pain, crying and wishing for something or someone to come and stop it. In his closed eyes, he was seeing white, brought on by the sharp pain that wouldn’t even allow him to think. For a split second when the pain eased off a tiny bit, he let go of his head and opened his eyes. He pulled his hands forward, shaking, and saw that he was completely red with blood- not just his hands, but the entire rest of him as well. And that’s about as far as the slight relief lasted, and on came the most agonizing wave of torment he’d ever felt and he released a yell- a broken, scratchy, loud noise breaking from his throat, so loud that it may have just ripped through Frank’s esophagus. He’d never felt such excruciating pain in his entire life, and he screamed until his voice was gone and all that was left to do was just to be engulfed in the ache, and beg for death. His eyes were slowly shutting, and his fingers were unclenching, no longer holding his head with all their might.

 

 _Wake up._ He heard a voice call to him, though all he could see now was blackness. He was unable to move, unable to breathe, everything around him ceased to exist and only pain remained.

 

_Hey. Wake up._

 

Frank’s eyes flew open, and his hands automatically pushed him up to sit. It took him a second to gather his surroundings and realize that he’s on the Trans-Siberian, and not in fact dying. His cabin mate was leaning forward, his hand no longer poking Frank to try and save him from his own brain. Frank’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest as he quickly put his hand to the back of his head, and pulled it in front of his face to look at it. No hot sticky blood, just the white bandage he’d wrapped around his hand earlier.

 

“Jesus fuck.” He muttered, rubbing his sweating face with his hands. His head didn’t hurt anymore, and there was no big gash on his scalp. He was safe there, on the train, no strange man smashing his skull against the wall, just his cabin mate, waking him up. He placed his hand on his chest and took a few deep breaths.

 

“You alright, mate? You seemed really distressed.” The Scottish boy asked, and Frank turned to look at him, his hand scratching at the place where the large gash was in his dream.

 

“Yeah, just…“ Frank took a drawn out breath and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, listening to the rain, and to his heartbeat slowing down. “I need a smoke.” He said as he finally opened his eyes, quickly getting up and dipping into his backpack to retrieve one of his ready to smoke, rolled up in advance sticks. He put it between his lips and hurriedly got to his feet, feeling his pocket for the lighter, and leaving his cabin mate with a half confused half ‘should I be worried’ look on his face as he slid the door shut and quickly walked through the entire train until he got to the small deck at the end of it.

He braced himself, once again realizing that he forgot to bring his gloves, and that it was freezing outside. He took a deep breath and opened the door, and was immediately hit with the harsh wind, making his hair flail about. He stepped out, and closed the door behind him.

He couldn’t help the painfully penetrating shiver that ran down his spine as he felt the Siberian cold stabbing at his skin. Frank took a few steps forward, and sat down on the floor right in front of the protective fence. He slipped his legs through it, letting them dangle above the tracks. He rubbed the palms of his hands together really fast for a couple of seconds, before retrieving the lighter from his pocket.

He lifted it to his face, though had trouble keeping steady with his shivering hands.

 

“Come on, fucker.” He muttered, as his shaking hands were having trouble completing their mission, and finally as he cupped them tightly around the stick, the fire touched the tip of it and it began to blaze in bright orange, emitting smoke into the cold air.

Frank quickly stuffed the lighter back into the pocket of his jeans. He took a deep lungful of the smoke and closed his eyes, leaning forward on the fence, letting his left hand dangle while it hung, and using the right to hold his cigarette. He released a deep sigh as he breathed out the smoke, which quickly flew somewhere far away and disappeared with the fast movement of the train.

Frank didn’t usually have bad dreams, and he didn’t know what caused them to appear so violently and cruelly on this train, since otherwise he actually enjoyed staying there. If Frank concentrated hard enough, he could still recall the feeling of the sharp and unrelenting pain radiating through his skull, tearing at his scalp and torturing him. It made him sick to his stomach to recall that dream, and he didn’t remember ever feeling as terrified as he did in that dream. He shook the feeling off, and put the memory into the back of his mind- he didn’t want to think about it now.

He inhaled the smoke, letting it swirl around in his system, mixing some toxicity into him, and exhaled it through his nostrils. The loud whirring of the train rushing on the tracks was a constant white noise buzzing in his ears, and though loud and intense, it wasn’t unpleasant. It was quite relaxing, rather.

 

Another thing about the noise though, was that it prevented Frank from hearing the door open behind him, and he immediately twitched and nearly jumped up as someone sat beside him.

 

“Sorry.” A soft voice said. It was Misaki.

She was sitting about a foot away to Frank’s right, letting her legs dangle off the deck in the same fashion that he did. Her short hair was really messy, rushing about with the wind, falling over her eyes and standing up in the air all at the same time.

 

“No worries.” Frank said, as he took another drag, and scratched the nape of his neck.

She was real cute. Her lips were naturally curved a bit upwards, and when she spoke soft dimples appeared on her cheeks. Her face was round, and in combination with her short hair it gave her a really young and breezy appearance. Frank felt a shiver run down his spine, and used his left arm to hold his right, pressing into his chest to try and maintain as much warmth as he could. He looked down at his legs, flying above the speeding, blurring tracks.

He then glanced at Misaki, who took a Marlboro stick out of the pocket of her jeans, and placed it between her gentle lips, letting it hang loosely off her mouth. She searched all of her apparel pockets, Frank saw her patting her jeans, and her sweatshirt, yet not able to retrieve a lighter.

 

“Could you please light me?” She asked, her words laced with a mild Japanese accent, decorating her soft, gentle voice. “I forgot mine.”

 

“Sure.” Frank said, and smoked hands-free as he fished for the lighter in his jeans. When he retrieved it, Misaki leaned towards him, holding the cigarette between two fingers and her lips. Frank scooted closer, and brought the lighter to the end of her cigarette. He tried to light it a couple of times, though having trouble because of the harsh wind and his shaking hands.

 

“Shit.” He muttered, as he used his left hand to shield the flame from the wind, and then finally, the tip of Misaki’s cigarette shone a bright orange, and she took a deep breath and turned away from Frank, and toward the scenery. Her lips turned into a small circle as she exhaled the smoke and closed her eyes.

 

“Thank you.” She said in her soft voice as Frank stuffed the lighter back in his jeans, though rather than using his hands to smoke, he slipped them through the fence and let them hang free as he inhaled smoke, letting it swirl in his lungs before blowing it out through the corner of his mouth.

 

“No worries.” He said, taking another puff of hot smoke as he rubbed his shivering hands together, trying to generate some heat.

 

“What happened to your hand?” Misaki asked as she blew out a lungful of smoke. Frank lifted his right hand up, turning it over, inspecting the shaggy messy bandage.

 

“Got burned at the samovar.” Frank answered, and dropped his hand back down. He has no business explaining to the girl that her beauty is what caused him to get so distracted as to burn himself- he was sure that’d make her very uncomfortable especially since she was married.

“Misaki, right?” He asked, and the girl gave him a drawn out surprised glance. “My cabin mate told me that’s what you’re called.”

 

“Yeah, that’s right. That guy with the Dazai book?” Frank nodded. She was quite fluent in English, nothing would give away that it wasn’t her first language save for her accent. “What’s your name, then?” She asked and Frank took a long drag from his cigarette.

 

“Frank.” He let both his name and the smoke float out of his lungs in marvelous swirls that only took about a second to get swept away in the wind with the speed of the train. He put his cigarette out on the fence, and flicked the butt away with his fingers.

“Nice meeting you, Misaki.” He said as he got up, rubbing his hands together, and then waving them at himself, trying to air out the smell of the smoke.

 

“If you want,” Misaki said just as he was about to leave. Frank stopped in his tracks, his hand on the handle of the door. “My husband and I, we have some cards. You and your friend are welcome to come play. It’s a long ride, after all.” She finished, and Frank slightly turned his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. She was a truly lovely girl.

 

“It is. Thanks.” He said politely and pulled the door open, making sure to shut it quickly before he actually froze himself solid. He once again ran in place for a few seconds and pushed a strand of the mess on his head away from his eyes. He rubbed his hands together as he walked back to the cabin, and stopped on the way to put them on the hot samovar for a couple of seconds. Frank let the heat radiate through his iced-up fingers, letting it warm his skin, then his flesh, his blood and his bones until his body felt quite alive again. With a quick step, he walked all the way to the cabin, and slid the door open.

His cabin mate was sitting, book in hand. His long fingers were curled up at his chin, stroking it as he read. Though when Frank entered, he raised his eyes from the writings and lowered the book. 

 

“Are you alright?” He asked Frank with slightly widened eyes, as he sat down at his side of the cabin and wrapped the blanket around his shaking shoulders.

“Yeah.” He said in a breathy manner, and wrapped his arms around himself, pressing tighter as he tried to melt the cold away. The stranger’s hand snapped his book shut in one swift, graceful motion and he set it aside on the seat beside him. “Did you happen to notice how long I slept?” Frank asked, looking up at the Scottish boy. He slightly pulled up the sleeve of his blazer, revealing an expensive looking Balmain wrist watch, black and silver, with roman numbers carved on in cursive writing.

 

“About two hours.” He said, and Frank nodded. It took less than two hours for his sleep to become restless, riddled with pain and nightmares. He sure hoped he’d kick the habit of torturing himself in his sleep, or else he’d turn into a walking zombie long before they even get to Beijing.

 

“And did I… I mean, was I like-“ Frank started stammering, his cabin mate giving him a drawn out look. “Like, moving? Being loud or—“

 

“Not loud, no. You just seemed to be having a really bad dream. It’s okay.” He answered. Frank rubbed the back of his neck, and released a drawn out breath. He took note of the fact that it wasn’t raining anymore, no hail roughly tapping at the glass, no thunder shaking up the earth and no lightning slicing through the darkened October sky. He lingered for a couple of moments, letting his brain wander about like the frosty wind. Suddenly, he came to a realization.

 

“I haven’t told you my name. I’m F—“ He started, but was cut off by the Scottish boy waving his hands.

 

“No, no, no.” He quickly shot out, and Frank was left baffled, silently looking at the man in front of him. That was rather impolite, not something Frank expected at all from what he’s experienced thus far in his interactions with this guy. Why would he so savagely, shoot down an introduction?

 

“Sorry. But hear me out- wouldn’t it be brilliant if we didn’t know each other’s names? Like a mystery, that’s going to be forever preserved.” He tried to explain, and at first Frank couldn’t quite gather what he was even trying to get at but as he considered it, he thought that it would be pretty cool. And Frank could, for the rest of his life, just remember the person in front of him as what he is and not as a tag, a label, a _name._

“I think that’d be rad.” Frank said and nodded. “But what do we call each other?”

 

“Well, to start, I know the first letter of your name now. So it’s only fair if you know mine. A lot of people just call me Gee.” Frank locked the letter in his mind. Gee. He liked it, quite a lot, actually, as far as nicknames go. It suited him, even if it was just the first letter. Frank wanted to know the rest, he wanted to _so bad_ but he knew that’s all he’d get.

 

“Gee.” Frank let it roll of his tongue once. He liked how it sounded- the air being exhale from his lungs and passing through his mouth that shaped it into his cabin mate’s nickname. It felt good.

 

“Do you have a middle name?” Gee asked, and Frank let go of his blanket, having warmed up quite enough.

 

“Yeah. I guess you can call me Anthony.” Frank said, though it felt a little odd, out of place. Nobody ever called him by his second name, except for his grandfather. He just liked Frank better- it was more him than any other name could ever be. Gee smiled at him with a slight nod, clearly pleased. A moment of silence followed, before he opened his mouth to speak.

 

“Starts with an ‘F’…” He more so murmured to himself, rather than directing his words in Frank’s direction. “Well,” He said, and got up, adjusting his red velvety tie. “Come along, Flynn.” He spoke, and gestured with his hand as he slid the door open. Frank was looking at him with a surprised expression.

 

“My name’s not Flynn. Come along where?” Frank asked, getting up.

 

“Didn’t think it was.” Gee commented, and started walking out. “Go on, then.” He said to Frank, and he joined behind him.

 

“Where?” He asked again and Gee stopped in his track, and turned to face him.

 

“Do you plan on spending the next six days just sitting around in a train compartment, only leaving it to smoke?” He asked Frank with a slight raise of his brows, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Frank thought for a moment, and scratched at the back of his head.

 

“I guess that was sort of the plan, yeah.” He said, and Gee looked at him for a second before letting a small laugh escape through his nose, and shook his head in amusement.

 

“How about we do something more interesting, yeah?” He said, turned around and kept walking. Frank tagged along behind him, and noticed he stopped in front of the cabin which he saw Misaki enter earlier that day. Gee knocked on the door, and with a ‘Yeah!’ emitted from the other side he slid the door open and was greeted happily by Misaki.

 

“Hey, Dazai guy!” She said, and Frank came closer to look inside the cabin. Misaki was sitting on the window side, and next to her sat a young guy, white and quite skinny, big brown eyes and brown bangs falling over his forehead. He had a small smile on his face, and if this was Misaki’s husband then the first thing that struck Frank with surprise was that he wasn’t Japanese.

 

“Wait, before we say anything,” Gee began, “My friend and I are playing this game where we’re not going to know each other’s names.” He said, gesturing to Frank, who was standing behind him, just watching what he decided to do. “So, call me Gee, and call him Anthony.”

 

Misaki’s husband seemed amused by this, and then opened his mouth to speak. “Is the stewardess out there?” He asked, in his most American accent, and Frank glanced at the car corridor.

 

“No, doesn’t seem so.” He said. The guy smiled.

 

“Come in, lock the door behind you.” He said, and Gee entered the cabin, and sat at the window side. Frank followed suit, closed the door and turned the lock behind him, proceeding to sit next to Gee.

 

“I’m Conor, that’s Misaki.” Misaki’s husband introduced them, and Frank noticed that the couple was acting a bit weird, before realizing that they both seemed to be tipsy, to some degree at least, after noticing the three flaks that they were seemingly trying to hide between them but were quite noticeable from Frank’s angle. Conor was obviously Midwestern, Frank could asses from the way he spoke.

 

“Where are you from, Conor?” Frank asked, as Gee grabbed the deck of cards that was sitting on the small table.

 

“Nebraska.” He answered, as Gee was shuffling the cards, between his fingers. Frank wondered how Misaki wound up with an American husband. Didn’t she live in Tokyo?

 

“Okay.” Misaki said, and reached for the flasks, putting them all on the table. “We have vodka and cards.” She said as she assembled the flasks on the table. Gee gave the drinks a drawn out look, before dropping his gaze back down to the cards he was shuffling. It has been at least a couple of months since the last time Frank got wasted with strangers, and now that he thought about it- that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. It should be a nice way to pass the time.

 

“What do we play?” Frank asked, looking at the couple sitting in front of him. They looked at each other; Conor pointed at his forehead and they both laughed. Conor turned towards Frank and Gee.

 

“You write a famous person’s name on a card, give it to the person sitting in a clockwise direction from you. Without looking, you lick the back of the card you got and stick it to your forehead. In turns each person asks a yes or no question about their card. If the answer is no, the person asking drinks. If the answer is yes, the rest drink.” Conor explained.

 

“Cool.” Frank said, nodding. That sounded like fun.

 

“Dazai guy.” Misaki asked for Gee’s attention, and he lifted his gaze from the cards he was shuffling between his fingers. “You in or what?” She asked, and Frank noted how she seemed more extroverted after having had a few drinks. It may have only been Frank’s mind, but it seemed like Gee had an odd look on his face, almost concern; his lips were pressed against each other a bit tightly, and his eyebrows slightly furrowed. It took him a couple of seconds before he nodded, and put a card from the deck in front of each person, silently. Frank felt like he was acting a bit timid, something about him was off, for a few seconds at least. Soon, he wiped it off with a soft smile on his face.

 

“Who’s got a marker?” He asked, and Misaki drew a dry erase marker from her pocket. She wrote on her own card and discreetly flipped it over. They all passed the marker between them, writing down the personalities they’ve chosen. Frank was the last to pen down a name, and he wrote _Prince_ across the ace of spades that sat in front of him. After he turned it over, they all rotated the cards in a clockwise direction. Frank watched Gee lick the back of the card that he was given, and stick it on his forehead with a slight slap of his hand. Frank did the same, and they all looked at each other for a few seconds. Conor had Frank’s card on his head. Misaki was Stephen King, and Gee was Madonna.

 

“Okay, I will start.” Misaki announced. “Am I a man?” She asked, and everyone collectively said yes.

“Bottoms up.” She said as she grinned. All three boys took a flask, and downed a mouthful of the vodka. Frank cringed at it a bit before slamming the flask down- he’d never liked the taste of vodka, but this might help him break out of the anxiety he was having.

 

“Alright,” Gee started as he put down the flask, and rubbed his hands together. “Am I dead?” He asked, and everybody laughed.

 

“Drink up, scotty.” Misaki said, and with a slight nod Gee complied. Frank watched him as he put the flask to his lips. He leaned his head back for a second, his adams apple and the defined lines in his neck protruding in a very appealing way. When he put the flask back down at the center of the table, it was Frank’s turn.

 

“Am I American?” Frank questioned, and they all exchanged looks before each grabbing a flask and having a drink. Frank noted that in his mind.

 

“Am I a musician?” Conor asked, and the rest of them had a drink.

 

That charade went on for a while, and it didn’t take that long for Frank to feel the intense effect of the vodka on his brain, his vision was a tad bit blurry and he was laughing way more than he probably would have, had he been sober. When he looked at Gee, he noticed that he was flushed, a bit of booze sweat glistening on his face, and a goofy smile spread over his lips.

The thing about this game was- the longer you go on, the harder it gets to answer and ask questions, and to make logical assessments of the information you’ve been provided.

 

“Am I,” Frank asked, with a ridiculous giggle, and paused for at least five seconds, “A director?” He reasoned, since thus far he knew that he was male, in the film industry, and not an actor.

 

“Ayy!” Conor exclaimed and they all drank.

 

“Yes!” Frank threw his fist in the air triumphantly. At this point, any feeling of anxiety or unease has slipped away and Frank was quite decently buzzed and enjoying this game.

 

“Okay,” Conor started, his hand resting on his chin, while his other hand held his elbow. “Musician, eighties, singer, guitarist… Solo artist…” After that point, his words became incoherent as he was mumbling away, gathering all the information he had, until finally he looked up and his eyes swept across the rest of them.

“Prince?” He asked, and they all cheered and drank up. Conor was the second to guess correctly, as Misaki already assessed that she was Stephen King quite quickly. With a wide smile, Conor flicked the card off his forehead, and Frank and Gee were the only ones left.

 

They both turned to face each other. They looked at each other for a couple of seconds before Frank burst out in giggles and Gee joined him, placing a hand over his mouth yet unable to restrain the laughter. He was _so cute_ , Frank thought, in his intoxicated brain.

 

“Okay, shush.” Gee said, nudging Frank’s shoulder with his hand. “Am I blonde?” He asked, and Frank stared straight into his eyes before lifting the flask he was holding to his lips. _Okay,_ he thought, _not romance or drama, not horror or mystery…_

 

“Crime movies, then?” He finished the thought out loud, and Gee gulped a sip of vodka from his own flask. _Yes!_ Frank mentally cheered, he had a pretty good idea of who he might be.

 

“Am I Britney?” Gee asked, and Frank laughed a little.

 

“Nope.” He said with a pleased grin and Gee rolled his eyes and took another drink. He wasn’t as extravagant as Frank when he was drunk, but it was obviously a deviation from his normal behavior.

 

“Tarantino?” He asked and they all clapped and cheered. “Yes!” Frank exclaimed, and slammed the card down on the table.

 

“Shite,” Gee said, “I’m last huh?” He pushed his hair that was damp with sweat away from his face. “Madonna, yeah?” He asked, decently confident in his assessment and everybody once again clapped for him as he pulled the card off his forehead.

 

“I’m gonna go take a whizz.” He then said, getting up.

 

“Wait, Dazai.” Misaki said, “I’ll go for a smoke.” She fished into Conor’s pocket to grab a stick and a lighter, and they both exited the cabin.

 

“Some game.” Conor said, rubbing his head. Now that they weren’t playing anymore, he seemed proper hammered, red cheeks and all.

“What’s your real name?” He followed up and looked at Frank with a drunken glare.

 

“Frank.” He said.

 

“Yeah, you look like a Frank.” Conor assured him, and Frank gave him a slight salute with his hand.

 

“Conor.” Frank asked for his attention, for some reason, even though they were already in the midst of a conversation.

 

“Hmm?” Conor responded, leaning forward towards Frank.

“How come you’re married to Misaki? How did you meet her?” Frank asked, and kicked his boots off to sit cross legged on the seat.

 

“I met her in college. She was studying abroad as an exchange student. She was a senior while I was a sophomore, and we ended up taking a course together.” Conor explained, and Frank couldn’t help but notice that he was slightly slurring his words, probably having had way too much to drink for his skinny and fragile frame.

 

“And then what?” Frank demanded the extended version, and Conor looked at him with big brown eyes for at least a couple of seconds.

 

“And then I fell in love.” He said, in the simplest way possible. A silence followed. “We dated for a year, and before she went back to Japan, I asked her to marry me.” He finished.

 

“You’re so lucky.” Frank blurted out, and then clenched his eyes shut because suddenly it hurt, and there was a twinge in Frank’s heart. It _hurt_.

Frank could hear Conor get up, then plop down on the seat beside him. When Frank opened his eyes, he saw the ceiling lighting, and to his intoxicated mind it seemed as though it was drifting and unstable even though it was fixed in place.

 

“Yeah. The luckiest.” Conor said.

 

“Conor.” Frank asked for his attention again, turning his head to face him. Conor was looking at him, and raised his eyebrow to signify he was listening.

“We’re friends, right?” Frank asked.

 

“Sure, we are.” Conor said, and let his hand rest limply on Frank’s shoulder.

 

“Cause I didn’t think I’d ever make new friends.” Frank said and leaned back in his seat, letting his eyes fall shut again.

 

“That’s ridiculous.” Conor said with a laugh, and they sat like that, in silence, for a while. Frank concluded that he really liked Conor. He was simple and clever, and he didn’t tend to speak all that much but every time he opened his mouth, his words were gold. After a while Frank broke the silence again.

 

“Conor.” He once again called out to the air of the cabin.

 

“Yes, Frank?” He answered, and Frank gave him a long vacant stare.

 

“We’ll still be friends when we’re sober, right?” He asked, because his thought filter wasn’t working right now, and under the surface Frank turned out to be lonelier than he let on, lonelier than he even knew. And Conor- he was definitely worth keeping, as were Gee and Misaki.

 

“Of course. I have no doubt in my mind.” He assured Frank, and he let his eyes close again as he crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Rad.” Frank said quietly, with a smile, and let his head fall on Conor’s shoulder since suddenly it was too heavy to hold, and the alcohol was probably to blame. Conor didn’t seem to mind. After a while of having his eyes shut, Frank looked out of the window, and the flashing grey scenery seemed to have been leaving a fuzzy trail behind each object, but he knew that it was all just his booze goggles. He felt himself being drawn into the scenery, and felt fascinated by every single birch tree, every lonely fluttering leaf and every lonesome cabin in the middle of the Siberian woods. They all seemed to have come out of a storybook to Frank- he felt as though he had been sucked into a fantasy world, and if he were to just step off of the train he’d meet a witch in one of the cabins and run into some elves in the woods.

 

Within a couple of minutes, the door slid open and in came Misaki. When she slid it shut it slipped away from her fingers with a slight bounce on the train, and caused a loud thud as it slammed shut, making Frank jump up.

 

“Sorry.” Misaki whispered, and sat down. Conor seemed to have either fallen asleep sitting or passed out from the vodka, though he seemed peaceful enough to just let him be. Frank decided to get a subtle glimpse of the fantasy world he’d envisioned in his mind, and watch the scenery from the deck at the end of the train.

 

“S’alright.” He mumbled at Misaki as he was putting his shoes on, and slightly touched his hand to her shoulder before exiting their cabin. Frank started making his way to the end of the train with a slight sway in his walk, and the way there seemed much, much longer than it did before.

That may have been a bit too much vodka to consume on public transportation. Frank felt relieved that he didn’t run into any of the stewards on his way, since he was pretty sure it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s drunk and he wasn’t sure, but he thought it was considered illegal in some countries.

 

When he _finally_ crossed that last cabin and stepped out on the deck, he found Gee there, sitting with his legs handing off in the air as was proven popular among the passengers in the last day. Frank closed the door, and sat beside him. It didn’t feel all that cold after having had a few drinks, and this time he wasn’t shivering. Gee was sitting there in his dress shirt and sweater vest, sleeves rolled up, yet his blazer hung off the fence to his right. Frank thought it was a shame, it seemed to be a rather pricey piece of clothing.

 

“What are you up to?” He asked Gee, who turned his head to look at Frank but then closed his eyes and his lips stretched in a closed mouth smile. He let his head rest on the fence, turned in Frank’s direction.

 

“Mmm, some fresh air.” He said, took a deep breath and then opened his eyes. He seemed decently hammered, Frank thought to himself, as he was all red and sweaty even now that he was out in the cold. Some of his hair stuck to his damp forehead, and some of it was wandering about in the wind. His tie was a bit loose, and one of his shoelaces was untied.

 

“Right, yeah.” Frank said, and was simultaneously going through the pocket of his jeans, until he found his cigarette and lighter. He placed the stick between his lips, and clicked the lighter on with a few tries, until finally a bright flame shone. He brought it closer to his cigarette, but before he could light it, he heard Gee’s voice.

 

“Don’t, please.” He said, and the flame withered away as the pressure in Frank’s finger released when he heard those words. “I’m sorry mate, it just bothers me. I’ll leave in a couple of minutes anyway. Okay?” He said, his words melding into one another slightly as he spoke, but his nice slight accent and proper articulation still remained. Frank concluded that he really liked the way the Scottish boy dragged his A’s, and he wondered whether he would have noticed that detail if he were sober. Frank stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. With two fingers, he pinched the cigarette away from between his lips.

 

“Sorry. I didn’t even notice I was doing that.” He placed the cigarette in the same pocket.

 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s just a bad habit.” Gee said, lifting his head and leaning his arms over the fence instead, one crossed over the other in an X shape. Frank knew he came out to watch the cinematic scenery, but Gee was by far a lot more interesting.

 

“You have a conference in Beijing or something?” Frank asked with a slight pause in the middle.

 

“No. In Tokyo.” Gee answered, lips curving over the words as he spoke them.

 

“Tokyo?” Frank asked in a surprised tone, “What the hell are you doing on this train, then?” He wondered aloud.

 

“Conor and Misaki are heading towards Tokyo too, I’m not the only one. Thought this time I’ll take the scenic route.” Frank thought about that for a moment.

 

“A thousand naked birch trees is the scenic route for you?” He asked, and Gee laughed, and removed his arms from where they were resting on the fence. Instead he lay back on the deck, his legs still hanging off above the tracks. His hair spread around his face on the wooden floor as his hands weaved their fingers together over his chest.

 

“Guess so.” He said. Frank couldn’t ignore the fact that he was acting a bit odd, he was a weird drunk. He seemed more so lost in his head and a bit bummed out compared to Frank, who became pretty extravagant if a bit desperate for love when he drank. “Besides, don’t you sometimes need a proper excuse to take a break from life for a while?” He added, and turned his head in Frank’s direction.

 

“Oh, yeah.” Frank said knowingly, being an adult-life-escapee too, at the moment. He leaned back and joined Gee on the floor. His body was slightly shaking with the movement of the train, and when he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself taking off in a spacecraft on his way to the moon.

 

“Now that you’re proper sloshed I reckon you’d answer this.” Gee said, and Frank opened his eyes and turned his head to face him. “What’s up with your sleeping?” He asked, and Frank realized that he probably noticed the little fit he had last night too, as well as his pre-noon nap incident.

 

“I have really bad dreams.” Frank said, and proceeded to laugh at his own words with a rolling giggle and he didn’t even know why. It wasn’t funny, it bothered him.

 

“What kind?” Gee asked for more details.

 

“The painful kind.” Frank said, and put his hands under his head like a pillow. “They hurt. Maybe even more than they scare me.”

 

“What was it earlier? When I woke you up.” Gee followed up, and Frank turned his sight up to the sky. He then gave out a laugh.

 

“It’ll sound ridiculous if I say it aloud, you’d laugh at me.”

 

“I will not.” He said, and Frank concluded that he’s a serious drunk. Or maybe he just was today. Frank sighed, and closed his eyes, running the dream through his mind again.

 

“A strange man slammed my head into a concrete wall. My head was cracked open, and I was bleeding, and I could feel my skull through the gash. I was yelling and crying but no one came to help. It was like actual torture.” Frank told him about the dream, and a silence followed. Frank felt really calm like that, laying on the floor without a care in the world.

 

“Who was the man?” Gee finally asked, and Frank clenched his eyes shut, but no matter how much he tried to, he couldn’t pin a face to the odd person.

 

“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face.” Frank said. Hey lay in silence for a couple of moments. “Listen.” He then chimed up.

 

“Yeah?” Gee answered.

 

“If I ever bother you, wake me up. I don’t want to be a drag.” He said.

 

“You’re not a drag, but I’ll wake you up if you ever seem in discomfort, and you could tell me about your dream. It helps, you’ll see.” Gee spoke, and Frank turned to look at him. His chest was rising and falling as he breathed, and his bare forearms brushed against the rough wool of his sweater vest, creating static electricity which he will probably find later in a rather unpleasant way.

 

“Sure.” Frank said, and scratched at the back of his head.

 

“Maybe if you find out who it is that was hurting you, you wouldn’t be scared anymore. And then it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

 

“Perhaps you’re right.” Frank said, and looked up at the sky. Flashes of short lived lightning started shining through it, and in Frank’s buzzed out mind they lingered in his sight longer than they actually lasted out in the real world. He let his ears listen to the scratching of the train on the rails, let them swallow up the clattering thunder that was once again rumbling, and the soft tapping of the rain. He let his nerves tingle with the feeling of the harsh wood floor against his spine, and his own hair between his fingertips. And all of those odd feelings created a symphony of sensations that Frank’s brain was now out to decipher and organize, match them to each sense, though to Frank they still remained a grouping of experiences that tied him together to this moment.

Despite the unpleasant sensations, Frank felt divinely serene and _right, everything in its right place_.

 

Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe Frank’s torturer seemed powerful and terrifying, but once he’d break him down piece by piece, he wouldn’t be so mighty.

 

Frank thought about everything. About this day, about Conor and Misaki and Gee, about burning his hand, and about his dream. He thought about the ways still left to go, and about his mom back home. He’d call her once he gets to Beijing.

 

Frank would write about it all in his journal later, but for now, he’d revel in the moment. Right there on the train, he was laying on his back next to Gee out in Siberia. Thunder was growling and lightning flashing, his brained buzzed out and his eyes closed, and he realized he didn’t feel that calm in a long while.

 

 


End file.
